


Knowing is Caring

by amp_rs_nd



Series: Lack of Foresight: the Series! [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Jon takes care of Martin for 800 words straight, M/M, Minor Injuries, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:07:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29259456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amp_rs_nd/pseuds/amp_rs_nd
Summary: When Martin sustains a leg injury, Jon is there to help.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Lack of Foresight: the Series! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143332
Kudos: 46





	Knowing is Caring

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place between chapters 8 and 9 of my fic Lack of Foresight, but can also be taken out of context as Martin getting a nasty leg injury and needing it to be cared for.

The first thing Jon does upon getting home, a limping Martin slung over his shoulder, is use his thigh to slam the door open with admirable force.

“Oi! Jon!” He sounds mortified as he says it, but through the thin sheen of cold sweat on his forehead, Martin’s skin goes pleasantly red at the gesture. “Please be careful, you’ll put a dent in the wall again!”

“I really don’t care right now,” Jon huffs, scrutinizing the puff of cold air that floods in from the entrance, and drags the both of them inside. He immediately deposits the other on the couch, then quickly scrambles back to the entryway, slamming the door shut as viciously as he’d opened it.

Martin scrunches his face in concern. “Okay, you need to calm down.”

“I am perfectly calm!” Jon yells from the kitchen, voice drowning in the clattering of things being frantically shoved out of cupboards and onto the floor. The fire crackling in the fireplace almost covers up the faint flakes of static that pop sporadically through the air. Almost.

“Are you Knowing things again?!” Martin calls out, face now scrunched in very obvious pain, and Jon frowns at it while he rushes back into the main room, nearly tripping over himself as he jogs. He unceremoniously dumps his collection of first aid onto the coffee table and yanks a throw pillow from the couch, eyes flashing gold as he does so.

“Give me your leg,” he demands, and Martin raises his right uninjured one as a joke, but when Jon squeaks out another distressed noise he sobers and finally offers the properly injured one, his left. Jon carefully guides it on top of the pillow before immediately digging through the supplies on the table.

“The Eye says keep it elevated like this for thirty or more minutes at a time, as frequently as can be managed,” Jon murmurs, more for himself than for Martin. “I’m going to remove whatever bandage you already have here to clean it and then properly disinfect it with antibiotics… sorry, dear, but it’ll be a bit worse before it gets better.” By this point, Martin can’t hope to manage more than a grunt and a grateful smile at Jon’s fussing, and Jon smacks a placating kiss to his damp forehead before diligently getting back to work.

Martin swings out a hand to pat him on the shoulder as gratitude, but the motion falls spectacularly short. “You really need to— _ahh,_ ” he hisses in a sudden shock of pain, “take it easy. You won’t be of much use to either of us if you worry yourself sick.”

Jon at least has the wherewithal to look vaguely apologetic. “I promise I’ll relax once this is over with, but please let me take care of you right now.” By this point, Martin is too fatigued to do anything but hum his assent as he lets his head fall against the back of the couch.

The pain does spike before it mellows out, but the elevation helps, at least. Upon tucking the end of the new, clean bandage away, Jon goes to rise again, but before he goes even a few inches Martin leans forward and clasps a sweaty hand to his elbow.

Jon’s eyes are like saucers. “I’m only getting tea—”

“ _No—_ can you— can you stay?” Martin mumbles, eyes squinted shut, and boy his voice is hoarse compared to how it was just a few minutes ago, so Jon just nods solemnly and goes to maneuver his way around him, having to hook a leg over Martin’s raised one in order to limply flop down onto the couch next to him.

When Martin murmurs a meek request for Jon to hold him, Jon gives him an encouraging smile and bundles the other up in his arms. It’s a tricky fit, what with one of Martin’s legs raised high on the coffee table and his fists clenching on and off against Jon’s woolen jumper like a kneading cat, but they make it work. Martin’s nervous steadying breaths are punctuated by the aimless, toneless hums Jon presses into his boyfriend’s hair, his own leg bouncing anxiously. After a few minutes, Martin slides a hand onto Jon’s tapping knee to still the movement and screws his eyes open to get a better look at Jon.

Jon has never been particularly difficult for Martin to read, so the pure adoration mixed with concern he finds there threatens to knock him off balance. Instead, Martin gropes for one of Jon’s hands and squeezes, trying to communicate through a gesture what he can’t yet find the breath to sing through saccharine prose.

When Jon smiles ever wider and butts his forehead against Martin’s flushed cheek, it’s clear that his message has come across just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written fluff before, I have no clue what I'm doing...


End file.
